Repost: Minor
by ShySocialite
Summary: Uptown woman meets downtown boy. Multichapter fic. Declan & Victoria. Rating will change later. 5 or more reviews equals an update!


Declan made his way outside, the cold crisp air hitting him like a wall. He pulled his coat tighter around him, tucking his nose in his shirt in an attempt to retain some body heat. Suddenly, the door burst open from behind him and he was pushed to the side by a man storming his way to a car parked by the curb. A woman's voice yelled after him as she tried to keep up in heels.

"Don't you walk away from me!" she demanded.

_Grayson_, Declan thought. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. _What the hell was she doing in the City?_

He became oddly entranced by the two bickering about nothing he could understand and they being fairly vague about it.

"Your ass can walk home." the man eventually spat, quickly locking himself behind the wheel and sped off.

The brunette picked a rock and threw in its direction with a grunt. Her rushed and now haggard breaths condensed instantly and disappeared wispily into the night air.

It must have been the wee hours of the morning and at least near freezing. Frost could be seen sealing the cracks of the sidewalk. He was chilled to the bone just in jeans and two hoodies, but yet there she stood in the tightest damn pencil dress.

Her arms wrapped around her petite frame, bending over slightly, her head dropping to her chest and long curls falling in front of her face. He would've walked away, he should've simply walked away. His feet even took a step towards the alleyway as he would've easily slipped into the shadows without notice. Only that's when he heard it—crying. Well, they were more like whimpers; quiet, soft little sniffles that caused him to turn back around.

His shirt slipped off his nose as he straightened himself to his full height, eyes rolling in anxiety, and cursing himself for actually caring for the mother of the girl who single-handedly broke his heart.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "Um...Mrs Grayson?"

Her head snapped up, greeting him with a snarl and a red tipped nose, causing him to recoil a step back. When her vision focused on his shaded figure by the dim streetlight and realized who he was, she let out a sigh of irritation as her glassy eyes rolled closed.

"You...okay?" he asked warily.

She thought if she stayed silent long enough, he'd forget he had even spoken and leave. It usually worked, especially if there was something else—anything else—to ignore his presence with. But as she visually examined her surroundings, she found it no use but to answer the boy.

"Hello, Declan." she mumbled in defeat.

"Jesus, you must be freezing your balls off out here." he said without thinking, having eyed the goosebumps sprouting on her legs, and earning him a heated glare. "Not that you have balls, cause girls don't have balls, that's physically impossible. And not that you're a girl! You're very much a woman. Not that I'm checking you out or anything..." he rambled, desperately trying to explain himself or apologize or something—failing miserably.

Finally he shook his head and unzipped his jacket, pulling his arms out from the sleeves.

"Here." he offered.

Her face scrunched as if he were handing her a rodent.

"I have a coat, it's..." she began but her words soon trailed off as she glanced down the road over her shoulder. "My purse. They're in his car." she remembered regrettably.

She turned back to face him again with a uneasy smile and eventually took the hoodie. "Thank you."

"Who _was_ that prick, anyway?" he curiously asked. "Sorry, for uh...cursing."

Tucking her hand in the front pockets of the worn out garment once it zipped as far as it would go, she smirked. "No one you would know, I'm sure."

He tried not to take offense to that. They were from complete opposite sides of the tracks, so anyone whom a Grayson associated with, more often than not, he would have no reason to cross paths with.

"I can give you a ride, if you want." he suggestively gestured behind him.

"I...no, I...thank you but I couldn't." she waved dismissively.

"We're both going home, right? It's not like we live that far from each other. It's really not a big deal."

She glanced around a moment, pushing at her hair, obviously debating it in her head before giving a curt nod.

..:::..

They rode in silence for the first ten minutes before Declan felt the need to speak.

"You getting any heat?" he asked, fidgeting with a vent and pointing it her way.

Her attention jumped to his hand from gazing outside. "Oh, yes. I'm fine, thank you."

His right hand went back to the steering wheel, allowing his left to rest its elbow against the door lock and stick a nail between his teeth. "Sorry about the uh, mess. I haven't had a chance to clean it out."

"I've ridden in worse, trust me." she dazedly replied, her care having flown back out the window.

He quirked an eyebrow at the notion of her having ever seen the inside of any vehicle other than the chauffeured sedans or limousines she associated with; the 70's Ford Bronco they were sitting in excluded.

"So uh, why the Elbow Room?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Elbow Room...the bar?"

"I could ask the same of you." she countered. "It's a far cry from the Stowaway's standards. I can't imagine they let you in without being removed."

"Who says I wasn't?" he jokingly remarked.

She snorted.

"They were nice about it, though." he smiled, glancing between her and the windshield. "They told me to leave instead of man-handling me out."

"Watch where you're going." she tried passing as an order, shifting her eyes to the road but couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corners of her lips.

Minutes more passed of listening to rubber of the tires trail along cement before he spoke again.

"Why'd you leave your stuff in his car?" he inquired.

She sighed heavily. "You certainly ask a lot of questions."

His left hand flew up in surrender as his shoulders hiked to his ears. "My bad, none of my business."

Slumping back in his seat, his eyes couldn't help but notice her silky fair skin. How soft and ageless it seemed. And how much of it was exposed. She was old enough to be his mother, hell—she was his ex-girlfriend's mother, and yet he found himself strangely attracted to her. Was it a milf thing? He didn't understand it. Quite frankly, he didn't want to. That sort of thing was unimaginable.

His gaze drifted to her hair. He always found girls with long hair much more alluring than ones with theirs chopped off. Especially when it was styled in curls. For some reason, curls meant money and any of the girls he hung around subdued in comparison with their straightened locks.

What was he thinking? She was a grown woman. A Grayson for god's sake. That was the top of the food chain when it came to the ranking of the Hamptons, especially from his neighborhood. He would've never lasted with Charlotte, much less with her mother. Not that Victoria would ever consider..._what the fuck?_

"You just missed the turn."

"Huh?" Declan's head snapped up and out of his thoughts.

"You take 495." A polished nail tapped against the glass.

"Right...let-let me just...turn around." he stammered.

"Are you alright?"

He slowed the car to a stop at the next red light in the turning lane in order to make a u-turn. But with a quick glimpse at the dash, he cursed under his breath. "I have to make a stop real quick."

She flashed him a concerned look. "Why?"

"We need gas."

..:::..

He waited in search for a service station until they made it on the highway and even then, his nerves were getting the best of him. The few they had seen, he forced himself to pass because it was either closed down or in a shady area. He wouldn't admit it, but he felt like a dumbass touting the queen around like this.

"I'm so sorry Mrs G, I really am. I know you just want to get home."

"It's alright, Declan." she assured, her hand tapping his thigh. "I'm actually by no means in any rush to get back, and please call me Victoria. We're passed formalities now, wouldn't you agree?"

He grinned, hoping he wasn't blushing or showing any indication of how aroused he was under her touch.

"Sure," he muttered, glancing down at her hand when she removed it just as fast.

They finally pulled up to the one free pump along side a BMW and a Prius, so he supposed it was satisfactory.

It only took him a few minutes to prepay the cashier and fill the tank until it cut off at the limit. That's when he returned in the drivers seat only to find Victoria stripping off his hoodie.

"Oh, you can keep that on till we get to your house." he ensured.

Once one arm freed itself, she tossed it in front of her to pull the other out as well.

"It might be best if we went straight to the Stowaway and I just leave from there. I wouldn't want to forget to give your coat back." she explained.

They both knew what she really meant. She didn't want to be seen dropped off by him, from this car, wearing his clothes, in the dead of night. And he could understand that, but it didn't soften the blow of insult.

His head turned down a bit and it was missed on her as she shifted in her seat to lean back and toss the garment where the backseats would've been had they not been taken out, leaving a large trunk space of other misfit objects.

In doing so, her legs uncrossed and spread slightly as her feet braced for leverage to push her weight upwards, hiking her squirt that extra inch shorter. He tried not to look and when he found that he was, he tried to tear his eyes away. Her arm grazed his shoulder as the hoodie was thrown carelessly on the floorboard and sounded with a muffled slap. She was so close that he could smell her perfume. It was sophisticated and expensive. Not like the fruity aromas Charlotte wore, when she was around.

She lowered herself back down, turning her head in the process, only to freeze upon the realization of their unintended closeness, noses nearly touching. Though something propelled him forward. His lips met hers in one swift motion for a brief moment before he pulled away. Opening his eyes, surprised that they'd fallen closed, his instantly locked with hers, that which were furrowed with wonder.

Then she did something that slack-jawed him. She leaned further and captured his lips once again. This time both their eyes closed and his tongue darted out, requesting entrance behind her teeth. A hand found its way to her face, cupping a cheek, fingers sliding into her hair, deepening the kiss. A swirling butterfly effect began taking flight in his stomach, not to mention the actual fly of his pants.

Suddenly she pulled away, throwing herself to the far side of the car. Her palm flew up in covering her mouth, eyes wide in horror. He merely sat there, afraid to say or do anything. Perhaps awaiting for instructions, perhaps waiting for acknowledgment that it happened at all. It had to have happened. He could taste her lipstick.

"Vic—" he began, his throat unexpectedly dry. But she cut him off by turning away, shifting her entire body towards the passenger-side door; hand still tapped over her mouth, the other wrapped around herself.

It was official.

It never happened.

TBC?


End file.
